I was a good citizen these last twelve or thirteen months. I forget. Life on Refuge Farm has a certain timeless quality. I was compliant when necessary, of course. I wore a mask when interacting with others, made a point of standing a polite social distance from them. I have lived in Japan, so the entire emergency process was a little surreal. In that country, on jam-packed mass transit, some citizens chose to wear masks. It was a reasonable personal decision and passed without any comment I could understand. What happened here was dramatically different. There was a crisis in progress, we were told. And our representative democracy seemed to devolve into a series of emergency directives, issued on the basis of expert opinion.
Worked with Dr. Fauci in another epidemic, and had a great deal of respect for him. What he became in this one was dramatically different, but in the interest of public order, I naturally complied. Thankfully, in the countryside of the Piedmont, it was not overtly the business of self-important people to assign themselves the role of monitoring compliance. Things were generally reasonable. Living on The Farm, masks were only used when absolutely necessary. Like going to the health club to continue aquatic therapy. Compliance there meant only trudging from the car across the asphalt to the reception desk, hoping to find the curb with my cane to avoid the curbs I could not see through the fog that painted the lenses of my glasses. This added danger to me was necessary not so much to protect myself, but to comply with the diktats of the Governor down in Richmond.
The President of the United States was on TV for a few moments of his available time at mid-week. He said the emergency was over. Things moved quickly that day since no Congressional session was required. The Center for Disease Control (CDC) allowed as how there was less than a 10% chance of contagion when un-masked outdoors. That proclamation was quickly fact-checked as actually being a little short of 1%, and that public inconsistency seemed to drive something else. That was the topic of the President’s brief remarks, which indicated that for “fully vaccinated” citizens, it was OK to be outside unmasked. Then the big one. He looked intently into his teleprompter and said the same thing was true inside and we could be as close to each other as we were comfortable.
Naturally, that was a big deal. Almost Japanese-style normal. As good citizens, Refuge Farm is 100% compliant on the vaccination process. Well, let me be more precise. We have had needles jabbed in our upper arms twice, with a month between doses. We were told to restrain ourselves for a fortnight after the second jab, but getting it was a curious thing. For a variety of unintentional reasons, I successfully appeared at the vaccination site on time for my appointment, but without my mask. There was a difference already. During the height of public restrictions even earlier this year, there would have been a busy station dispensing facial coverings for those unadorned.
On Wednesday, there was none on Wednesday. They were concerned about my birthdate and appointment time and directed me to station #14. A nice Virginia Guard solder handled the matter without mention of facial cover, jabbed me with authority, and told me I was done.
That was only a day before the President told us it was OK to relax. We were told to expect a more severe reaction to the second dose. There was some minor discomfort, but by Friday I was eager to get a decent work-out to expunge the evil vapors. There was reportedly no risk of them causing contagion, so the challenge with the health club was passing the admittance desk.
I had a mask in the bag, still clean, since I only wear it for a few minutes gaining access to the club, and thankfully masked swimming was never implemented as state policy. I was unsure if they still would be administering the temperature screen, but decided I could dispense with the only onerous part, which was the cloud of vapor emanating from the top of the mask that made the yellow-painted curb nearly invisible. I chose not to root around in my gym bag to find it, and being able to see made the walk to the door perfectly safe.
The familiar symbols of the Plague year remained: the decal circles on the floor demanding not three (or six) feet separation but a perfect ‘ten.’ There were two familiar faces at the check-in desk, where they conduct the temperature check and ask if any other symptoms of deadly infectious disease were noted before coming in.
“Don’t you have a mask?” asked the petite blonde. She asked in a polite but firm manner.
I have not acted up through this long national nightmare, but I felt our new freedom was at risk. “The President said it was OK if we are fully vaccinated. I am.” I made no move to fumble in my gym bag for the mask, nor to find my wallet with the card showing my vaccination status. The resistance did not seem to flummox her determination.
“There has been no change to practice here at the club.”
“But the President said it was OK.”
“We report to the Governor.”
The other lady had pressed the digital thermometer to my forehead and turned it around to show me “97.3” I assured her no additional symptoms of the pandemic had been observed prior to arrival.
“Doesn’t the Governor report to the President?”
The blonde gave me a quick frown. “I am doing what I was told.”
“And I thank you for your courtesy and concern. We are all trying.”
Then I turned, fumbled for my access card, scanned it at the turnstile, and walked down to the locker room without seeing the Governor.
It was a good swim. Some citizens did wear masks during the crisis, but I didn’t see any that day. I thought it was over. This morning, we heard the Governor had made an additional emergency decree. He and his experts apparently decided that all of us got our second vaccination on Wednesday, and we would be free again in fourteen days.
Unless the Governor decides something else in the meantime. I naturally trust him. He is a Doctor, after all, and when campaigning for his office, he assured us that infants born alive would be made comfortable even if the birthing person and her doctor decided to let it die. Like everyone, I recognize he is an Expert.
Copyright 2021 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com